


The Journey Home

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fairy Magic Gone Awry, Gay Rights, Longing, M/M, Pining, Snow, Sustained Eye Contact, Yearning, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28382409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: A fic in which John Childermass and John Segundus go on an unexpected journey, take a walk through a park, cross a street and have a lovely tea at a posh hotel with new friends.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 15
Kudos: 11
Collections: JSAMN New Year's fanfiction exchange





	The Journey Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palavapeite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/gifts).



> Based on the prompts:
> 
> "the festive winter season / the turn of the year in a place that is not England"
> 
> And (loosely)
> 
> "something involving the contrast of ice and snow and the warmth of a fireplace"

“It is far too late to travel to York before the sun sets and the snow worsens,” remarked Segundus shivering a little as he pulled his coat more tightly around himself. “Perhaps we should stay at an inn? Is there an affordable one nearby?” 

They were two hours north of Wakefield, near Swillington. Due to extenuating circumstances, it was already half past four in the afternoon, and they would have to travel another seven hours to make it to York without stopping. The snow was already falling in large, feathery flakes from a sky gray as slate. Childermass cast an appraising glance upward. He had hoped to make an earlier start, but one thing had led to another, and now it was almost nightfall.

It was Christmas Eve, and they were traveling to the Honeyfoot residence in High Petergate for a Christmas dinner. Childermass was accustomed to riding for hours without rest, pelted by the snow, the rain and even on a few unfortunate occasions **_,_ **hail. But his traveling companion, Mr. Segundus was unused to such rigors, and he was looking wan, pale-faced and thin-lipped with weariness.

They’d gone together to Wakefield for the purpose of investigating claims of a cache of magical books that had not been discovered by Norrell before his disappearance. Segundus had come along because there were a pair of possible new students in the household that claimed to own the books. They were a brother and a sister who, according to their parents, showed a lot of promise with magic, and he hoped to recruit them to come and study at Starecross. Childermass had been uncertain of Segundus’ ability to sit upon a horse for that many hours in the bitter cold and wind, but the man had made his argument for accompanying Childermass thoroughly and well. 

_Mr. Childermass, you surely know more about the discovery and acquisition of magical books than I. But I sincerely doubt that you’ve had as much experience in gently welcoming young people into the study of magic by way of speaking diplomatically with their mothers and fathers._

Childermass had been forced to agree, grinning a little at Segundus’ acute assessment of their differing skills, for his sort of diplomacy was of a decidedly more threatening manner and lacked a certain softness. And so Segundus had come along, and had born the rigors of travel well. Not complaining once. He’d looked a bit pale on the journey south from Starecross, but as the road had unfurled endlessly beneath their horse’s hooves, he’d seemed to grow accustomed to the semi constant jostling and the chill winds. He was a pleasant travel companion, and despite their uncertain history, they’d found they could chat amiably for hours with ease. Childermass had in fact grown to like him very much over the past year. Very much indeed.

Their plan had been to take a day to reach Wakefield, deal with the matter of the books and the young magicians on the twenty third of December. They would then stay at an inn in Wakefield, traveling north to York on the twenty fourth. There they would spend the evening at the Honeyfoot’s house, and the following day and night with them for their Christmas dinner, then head home to Starecross on the twenty sixth. 

Though the day was late, Childermass knew that riding all for that long in the snow was inadvisable. He also knew that there was a fairy road not five miles up the track and that he had once used magic to make a fairy road convey him from London to Bath. With the use of that same spell, this road could whisk them to York in a fraction of the time. The only thing that remained was to adequately recall the spell he’d used to open it, and of course, to convince Segundus to ride upon it with him. 

Segundus considered his proposal, chewing absently at his lower lip in a way that Childermass found particularly difficult to ignore, his large, dark eyes solemn and thoughtful. “I am not certain that would be advisable,” he remarked after a few moments. “Fairy magic can be quite unpredictable.”

“Ah, but this Mr. Segundus, is a spell I have performed before with no ill effects,” Childermass replied. Persuasion was a special skill of his after all. “If memory serves, I need only request a new location of the road. I will speak the name of the place to which we wish to travel and it will appear at the end of a short path through a fairy wood. I believe neither the origin nor the destination matter overly much, only the asking of the path to convey us.”

Segundus still looked uncertain, but his eyes tilted up to watch the swift, inexorable progress of the fluffy snowflakes falling all around them. The snow was sticking, quickly coating their surroundings in a blanket of feathery white. Segundus also did not relish spending money when he did not have to. It was one of the few things the two men had in common. The other was a love of magic, and so Childermass hoped he’d agree to attempting the fairy conveyance. 

“Alright,” Segundus relented with a small sigh. “Let us try the fairy path. I _am_ quite curious to hear this spell you speak of, and, if it works, we shall have to employ it more frequently! Oh! And we shall be at Honeyfoot’s in time to try his apple cider!” He grinned. Childermass grinned back. It was a new thing they did. Smile at one another from time to time over little things. It made Childermass’ chest flood with a warm feeling, as if his heart were a candle that had tipped over, spilling hot wax inside him.

They found the entrance to the fairy road just as Childermass remembered, and dismounted, standing for a moment, looking at the shadowy path that wound its way in a slightly serpentine manner through the twilight beneath the trees. 

“Give me but a moment and we shall be on our way,” said Childermass. Segundus waited patiently and silently, patting his horse Absalom’s nose. She was always skittish around fairy magic. Her master too was never feeling his best when strong magic was at play. Childermass shot a glance in Segundus’ direction, but the man seemed to be holding up well. 

Childermass concentrated on remembering the spell he’d used the last time he’d traveled this way. He raised his hands, said a few words, requested a new end point of the road and said “York” as their destination. 

For a moment, nothing happened, then they both felt the telltale tingle of the magic unfolding. A small breeze swept out of the path, blowing past them, rippling their clothing and making their hair flutter in its wake. It smelled a little of some sort of delicious food. Fresh baked bread? Or roasted nuts perhaps? Well, York was known for its bakeries and butcheries, and for various street vendors. It seemed the spell had worked. “Let us enter,” he told Segundus, receiving a nod in response, and together the two of them stepped onto the fairy road leading their horses by the reins. 

They had only taken a few steps and rounded a slight bend in the road, when they could see their destination before them through the branches of a few low hanging trees. It was dusk, and they could hear footfalls of passing townsfolk and see a tree lined path, perhaps in one of the walkways down by the Ouse? The smell of food had grown stronger. 

Segundus grabbed Childermass’ arm, stopping him in his tracks. “This does not feel quite right,” he said, a tremor of fear in his voice. Childermass turned to look at him, and saw the other man’s face was pale, cheeks colourless, and his eyes had gone glassy and lost their focus. He’d seen this look upon Segundus’ face before, most notably on that fateful day when he’d brought Lady Pole’s finger to Starecross Hall. Segundus was magic-sick. 

“It must be York,” Childermass reassured him, shaking his head just a little. “We are nearly there. Let us just…” it was then that he noticed that he was not holding Brewer’s reigns any longer. He’d been distracted by the look upon Segundus’ face. He glanced around swiftly. “Where are the horses?”

Segundus’ eyes went wide as he too looked behind them. Brewer and Absalom were nowhere to be seen! They both turned in unison and took a few hurried steps back the way they’d come, only to find the fairy road stretching back behind them endlessly. The entrance to the road near Swillington was gone!

Quickly, they went back to the opening that led out into their destination, and Childermass was relieved to see the darkened park and hear the footfalls and smell the food again. “Better to go forward without the horses than get trapped upon this road,” he said, and Segundus nodded in agreement, though he did not look any less pale. Together they stepped off the fairy path and into York. 

Only it wasn’t York at all. 

Immediately there were many things the two men saw that did not make any sort of sense. Yes, they were in a park of sorts, standing upon a path, but it was of a hard, dark material, like stone, and Childermass had never seen such paving before. People walked everywhere around the park, but there was no Ouse, none of the closely nestled houses and buildings of York. It was also warmer by several degrees, though still clearly winter. Wrought iron gates lined the paths that led through a series of tall trees and manicured bushes. The people were all dressed very unusually, in fanciful costumes and strangely cut clothing. He turned to look at Segundus, who was also gazing around them with open confusion. 

“Mr. Childermass,” Segundus breathed. “I do not think this is York.”

Childermass gaped at their surroundings, momentarily at a lack for words as he watched the strangely dressed people walk past them. At first, he thought they were mostly male, for the vast majority of them wore long breeches of some sort. But then a person passed close to him, and he could see that she was most definitely female, her pretty face and flushed cheeks smiling underneath the furred rim of a cloth cap, and he realized that the women were also dressed as men!

For a long moment, they stared about them, trying to make sense of what they saw. Tall lanterns lit the park, as dusk was swiftly descending, but they shone more brightly and evenly than any lantern Childermass had ever seen before, and did not flicker as they should have done. The delicious smell of food appeared to come from a nearby cart, lit with unearthly lights and covered with garish, brightly colored depictions of its wares. Underlying the delightful smells of baked bread and spices though, were strangely sour smells he could not identify. Urine definitely, but also some other subtle yet caustic aroma. The air around them was filled with discordant noises, snatches of unfamiliar music, and a loud series of honking bleats in the distance, as if a massive flock of geese were gathered somewhere out of sight. 

“We must still be in Faerie,” Segundus remarked, breathless with confusion. “You have conveyed us to a Faerie land. They have magic here I have never seen.”

Childermass was about to agree with him when he noticed something that had been hard to identify in the rush of bizarre images before them. “Mr. Segundus,” he said, reaching out a hand and placing it upon Segundus’ shoulder. “Do you sense any magic here?”

Segundus opened his mouth to speak, but then a curious look came over his face and he paused, feeling, listening. “No,” he said at last. “I do not sense any magic at all.”

“How could that be?” Childermass asked. 

“Mahm! Look!” a child’s voice rang out, strangely accented. Childermass and Segundus both turned toward the source of the words. They saw a small child of indeterminate sex, holding hands with what he assumed must be their mother. A slender woman with honey blond hair cascading about her shoulders. She was wearing a dark, woolen coat and a tartan skirt that casually displayed her long, stockinged legs to any who wished to look. Childermass’ cheeks heated and he averted his eyes, and felt Segundus’ shocked intake of breath next to him. 

“Oh my gahsh! That is just precious!” The woman exclaimed loudly, also in a strangely accented voice, though the sound was somewhat familiar. “Are you two extrahs in A Christmas Carol? Look sweetie! They’re outfits are just adorable!”

Childermass could not quite make out some of what was being said, but both woman and child were obviously excited by their appearance. “Madam, Pray, tell me, where are we? In which land are we?” he asked.

“Oh my gahsh! Your _accent_ !” The woman bounced a little with excitement, turning to look down at her child who grinned back up at her. “Sweetie! They’re _British_! How cyoot!” 

“Yes, madam! We are indeed from Great Britain, from the north of England, near York. Please, which Faerie land is this? We seem to have lost our way.”

The woman was for some reason overjoyed by his confusion. It was as if she did not truly hear him. Instead of responding, she squealed and fished about in a small, shiny bag hanging from her arm. She pulled out a thin, black object, sleek and glossy, that looked like nothing Childermass had ever seen before. She must have performed a spell, though Childermass could feel no magic being done, because the surface of the object lit up with an unearthly glow. “Oh my gahd, you two are just too cyoot! Can I take a picture?” she asked, 

Childermass was dumbfounded. Several other people had stopped to gather round. Most of them, regardless of gender, wore some version of snug, ankle length breeches or thick stockings, dark jackets and cloth hats. Some of their clothing was of bright, vibrant colors, the likes of which Childermass had never seen before. Bright pinks and oranges, like flowers in springtime only somehow much more garish, to the degree that they almost hurt his eyes to look upon them. A few of the people wore a red cap with a white trim and a white bauble dangling at the end of its flopping crown. They had skin of a wide array of colors, some as dark as Stephen Black, some as pale as Segundus, and every shade in between.

The woman, apparently taking his silence as assent, held the black shape up in their direction and then a soft clicking noise and a bright flash of light occurred. Childermass flinched and felt Segundus next to him do the same. “What magic is this?” Segundus asked.

“You guys are so cyoot!” the women exclaimed again, seeming unable to say anything else. Childermass had to assume that the insulting use of the term “guys” to refer to him and Segundus was meant as a more polite form of address wherever they now were. The woman must be speaking another language, or one that contained English words along with words from some foreign tongue, because Childermass could not decipher a quarter of what she said. 

Apparently the look upon his face finally alerted the woman to the fact that they were quite unsettled, because her smile faltered a little. “Are you guys alright?” she asked. Around her, other people were grinning and making exclamations that Childermass could not understand, holding up their own slim, shining objects, of all different colors. More flashes of light. More soft clicking noises. 

Segundus had crowded close to him. “Mr. Childermass, we must escape these mad people and find a way home,” he murmured into Childermass’ ear. Childermass nodded and turned away from the woman, who now looked very confused indeed. He and Segundus politely asked the gathered people to step aside, and were thankfully obliged. Everyone was smiling like fools and all of them, except the children, were pointing those strange, shining objects in their direction. 

Once they had escaped the ring of smiling townsfolk, they looked around, hoping to find the entrance to the fairy road, but it was gone. Childermass cursed under his breath. “This is not York, that much is clear,” he remarked, entirely unnecessarily. “Do you feel it?” He turned to Segundus, looking intently into his eyes. “The loss of magic? I cannot sense it in the slightest.”

“You are right, Mr. Childermass, I cannot sense it either. If this _were_ a fairy land, would not magic be in everything? In the trees, in the people? They do not even look like fairies. They look… like humans.” 

“Yet they do not speak the King’s English,” Childermass remarked, frowning. They began walking slowly down one of the dark stone pathways through the park. Everyone who saw them smiled and laughed in delight. More shining objects were held up and fished out of strangely tailored clothing and pointed at them in the rudest fashion. Childermass felt apprehension and irritation skitter unpleasantly across his scalp and down his spine. Who were these strange people? Why was everyone so overcome with mirth at their appearance? 

Something about the way the woman spoke, and the voices of the people that had recently surrounded them struck a familiar chord in Childermass’ mind. “They sound as if they are from America,” he said.

“Yes!” Segundus exclaimed, voice growing louder in his excitement. “I had chanced to meet a few men from America in visits to London. The accent is very close indeed. How could it be though that we are in America? It is many weeks journey across the ocean. Surely, we could not have stepped to another continent by way of a short fairy road?”

“It confounds reason,” Childermass agreed. He would have said something else, but his words died upon his lips and he stopped walking abruptly. Segundus, perhaps still chewing over how they’d arrived at this mysterious location did not immediately notice that Childermass had ceased moving, and when he did, he looked around him and Childermass heard his sharp intake of breath and a small cry of shocked surprise. 

They had reached the edge of the park, which was surrounded by a low, stone wall. As they’d gotten closer to the perimeter of the park, the honking noises and the acrid smells had grown sharper and louder. Distracted by a street full of bustling pedestrians and a low fringe of overhanging tree branches, they’d overlooked what lay beyond the people, the wall and the trees, and were now confronted with a sight that rendered both men speechless. 

Before them, rushing past them was a great river! No, not a river, for there was no water. But a sort of wide avenue of rushing, shining….things. At first they looked like gigantic, glossy insects, but the size of horses, low to the ground, lit up with bright lights, speeding by at an incredible rate. Beyond this rushing river of noise and color, were what at first looked like walls. Walls of stone, rising into the sky, so tall that Childermass could not easily glimpse the top of them from their current vantage point at the edge of the park. The walls though, were lit up in many places by more fairy lights, in glass boxes, all up and down their surface. Some of the walls were transparent, as if made entirely of glass, though there was not that much glass in all the world. Both men’s heads tilted back as their eyes followed the lines of the immense structures for what felt like miles, up into a dim, rust coloured sky. 

“Oh my dear lord,” Segundus breathed. Childermass was beyond speech. He felt Segundus grab his arm, and he placed his hand over Segundus’, seeking the comfort of human touch. They took a few faltering steps back, back into the shadows of the trees, behind the meager protection of the low stone wall that guarded the park. Segundus did not let go of his arm, nor did Childermass move his hand from on top of Segundus’ where it gripped his coat sleeve. The two huddled together against the trunk of a broad maple tree, solid and real and familiar and turned their eyes away from the hellish sights before them. 

“Where in God’s name are we?” Segundus’ voice contained a tremor of panic, and Childermass felt its echo in the chaotic mix of fear and awe currently swirling about in the pit of his stomach. 

“I know not where we are, but we must find somewhere to think. Somewhere away from the noise.”

“But where? This park is far quieter than, than...whatever lies beyond that wall.” 

Childermass looked about. “Come, let us find a place that is perhaps tucked out of the way so that we may talk of what to do next.”

He and Segundus walked further into the park, away from the unsettling, gleaming river of alarming noises and strange lights. People were everywhere, but the park was clearly less thickly populated than the broad avenue outside it. It was most definitely darker now, and yet the park was lit by those curious lanterns atop what looked like wrought iron poles, and the sky, what could be glimpsed of it through the trees, was starless and of a burnt orange color, like a dull and perpetual sunset. 

All around them, people moved, laughing, talking, many of them looking at their shining, magical objects, which almost everyone seemed to possess. Several times, they saw people laughing with delight and pointing in their direction. Childermass thought grimly that even though their attire was clearly considered very unusual, it was a good thing that people seemed to be enjoying it. 

Eventually, after wandering, past a large fountain, another cart selling fragrant foods and past several crowds of people, they found a bench, in an out of the way corner of the park, shrouded by shadows. It was private and quiet enough, and so they took their seats, quite close to one another. For a moment, neither man spoke. 

John Childermass had a vivid imagination. And even if he had not, even if he had been the most dull minded and unimaginative man in all of Yorkshire, he was still accustomed to seeing fantastical, unexplainable things on a weekly, if not daily basis for over 20 years. Magic had been his one constant companion for much of his adult life. 

He had seen all manner of magical happenings; water turning to cloth, bread turning to flocks of birds, fairy roads that led to fantastic underground burrows, filled with fae folk, music and dancing. He’d spoken with ghosts, animals, rocks and rivers, and on one memorable occasion, the sky. He was not easily shocked, and yet this land in which they found themselves shocked him to his core. Perhaps it was the incongruous nature of the clearly magical things they’d seen since their arrival, paired with the sense both men had that no magic could be found here in this strange land that had him so off kilter.

And if a stoic, steadfast, jaded man such as himself was thusly overwhelmed, he could not imagine what Segundus must be feeling. He turned to look at his traveling companion and found him staring, wide eyed at the people walking by. After a moment, he realized that Segundus’ eyes were fixed on one particular location, somewhere over Childermass’ shoulder, and that his expression was one of bewilderment and awe. Childermass, curious, turned his head in the direction of Segundus’ gaze. 

And then he froze, stock still. 

Not ten feet away, two men were stopped under a street light. They were standing very close, embracing. As he watched, the two leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was not a friendly kiss hello from brother to brother, nor was it a platonic sort of embrace. It was instead, clearly a lover’s kiss. 

Childermass felt his breath catch in his throat, struck by the sight before them. The men were kissing! Out here among all of these people! His first urge was to rush to them, to tell them they must be careful, or even to avert his eyes to allow them some privacy. Instead he found he could do neither. He watched with fascination, awe and a sort of second hand terror as these two foolish men’s lips met in plain view of everyone nearby. 

Shortly, and in an unhurried manner, the two stopped kissing, slowing the languid pace of their sliding lips to small, affectionate pecks. Then they walked off smiling, hand in gloved hand….and... _nothing happened_. No authorities rushed over to arrest them. None of the other people in the park gasped in shock at the scandal that had just played out before them. The men simply walked off, chatting to each other, clearly very happy and very enamored of each other. 

Childermass turned his head to look back at Segundus. Their eyes met and locked, holding steadily. Childermass felt the ability to speak leave him, as their gazes held and the moment stretched out second after heart pounding second. Something long sought for and dangerous sparked in the depths of Segundus’ dark eyes. An affirmation. An acknowledgment. A shared moment of confusion and awe passed between them. Childermass felt his gaze drop inexorably to Segundus’ open mouth, watched in fascination as clouds of condensed air gusted out past the other man’s soft, pale lips and into the space between them. 

They were interrupted by a polite voice. “Excuse me, sirs.” 

Childermass jerked his eyes from Segundus’ face and looked up. They were being addressed by two people. Both were rather small in stature, and the one who spoke, had the high sweet voice of a young woman. She and her companion were dressed in the same nondescript, dark clothing, in long breeches and shapeless dark jackets as many of the rest of the people in the park. The one who spoke wore a knit hat of some sort, dark and pulled down over her hair, but the other had a shaggy shock of hair the color of sea moss. Bright green and sticking up in all directions. 

“Hello... madam,” he said, as he and Segundus hurriedly stood and offered small bows. He was unsure of how to address the two, who looked more like boys than ladies, and both appearing to be quite young. He decided to err on the side of formality nonetheless. Who knew what sorts of social proprieties were common in this strange place. 

“I don’t mean to bother you,” the young woman said, and Childermass was surprised and pleased to note that she had a decidedly London accent. “But my girlfriend and I couldn’t help but notice your costumes and we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.” 

Not being sure what she had meant, but not wanting to insult her, he simply nodded and said, “Certainly you may.” 

“Oh lovely!” she clapped her hands, and her companion with the unearthly hair grinned broadly. “You see, we’re both costume designers for a few off-Broadway productions, and we’ve never seen costumes this good. Where did you get them?”

Childermass was thinking quickly, attempting to come up with some excuse, some way to deflect their question. Also, he did not know what ‘off-Broadway’ meant or what a ‘costume designer’ was. The words were unfamiliar and he only absorbed them because he had a long history of reading and hearing unfamiliar words in Norrell’s books of magic, and from being around magicians in general. Magicians who employed words in all different languages, including Latin, German, French, Italian, the languages of the Orient, and fairy tongues. 

Segundus, who struggled with any sort of evasion or pretense when asked a direct question, answered them immediately. “Madam, these are nothing more than our usual clothing. They are not costumes at all.”

Childermass winced a little as he saw the girls’ smiles falter. “Haha. Alright. Yes, but where did you buy them? Who designed them? Which theater? What was the name of the designer? Oh! Did you make them yourselves!?” The woman had seemingly ignored Segundus’ statement. “That is some next level cahz play.”

“I have never been very handy with a needle and thread,” Segundus replied, earnest as ever. “I was given my waistcoat by my landlady, Mrs. Pleasance several years ago, and she got it from her eldest son, who had grown out of it. My coat, well that, truth be told, was my uncle’s. When he passed away, my mother told me that I must have it. As for my breeches-”

Seeing the confusion upon the faces of the two young women, Childermass reached out a hand toward Segundus to still his tongue. “I think, Mr. Segundus, that these ladies believe that we are wearing some form of costume, as if we were in a theatrical production. You have seen how people here regard us. As if we are dressed in some delightful and unusual manner. I think they believe the same.”

“I’ve heard of method acting, but this is taking it a bit far, don’t you think?” It was the girl with the sea green hair that spoke this time. She, in contrast to her friend, had an American accent.

Said friend narrowed her eyes. “Where exactly are you gentlemen from?” she asked. “You sound like you’re from London, or somewhere south.” She nodded in Segundus’ direction, “And you,” she looked at Childermass “sound like you might be from Yorkshire. Is that right?”

“It ‘tis,” replied Childermass, nodding. “We have traveled a long way and are attempting to get home.”

“My name is Cat and this is Sam,” said the first young woman in the knit cap. She boldly held her hand out and, a little taken aback by her directness, Childermass shook it. 

“I am John Childermass,” he said.

“And I am John Segundus,” Segundus added, as he too grasped and shook both women’s hands. 

“Nice to meet you both,” replied Cat. “Now, maybe you could tell us why you’re in Central Park, dressed up like 19th century gentleman? I hope it’s nothing to do with drugs…” she trailed off politely.

Childermass did not understand her implication, but he decided he liked and trusted these two strange women, and perhaps enlisting some help in order to find their way home would be a prudent thing to do. 

“I am uncertain how accustomed you are to magic,” he began. “Being that I do not sense any here, and so I am unsure what you will think of our story should we tell you.” They both looked expectantly at him, and so he continued.

“We are from a small village near York called Starecross,” he said. “We were traveling, several hours south of our home. The weather turned bad, and I made the—apparently very ill advised —decision that we could travel far better with the use of a fairy path through the forest. A path that would convey us to York in a matter of seconds. Instead of delivering us to York however, it has sent us here, to this strange land. And now we have no way to return home again.” 

“I hate to sound like every fantasy time travel movie I’ve ever seen,” said Sam, “but what year do you think it is?”

Her companion frowned at her, but Segundus piped up immediately. “It is 1817, madam.”

The women burst out in peels of laughter. “Oh you guys are _dedicated!_ ” Sam exclaimed, running her fingers through her bright hair, while her friend slapped a hand to her mouth to cover her giggles. 

“I do not see what is so humorous,” Segundus remarked, sounding a little affronted in the way he did when a student second guessed his instructions or when Childermass gently teased him for being too polite. “Pray tell, what year do _you_ think it is?”

“It’s twenty nineteen,” Sam said. “What?” she asked when Cat grabbed her by the arm and shook her gently. “Why not play along? We’re theater majors remember? We live for this stuff.”

“I assure you both that when we stepped upon the fairy road not an hour or so ago, it was in the year of our lord eighteen hundred and seventeen,” Childermass said, and something in his voice made both women cease laughing and turn to regard him, their giggles slowly fading to be replaced by looks of confusion. 

“You sound serious,” said Cat. 

“Well, it is a serious matter,” replied Segundus, still a bit ruffled. “You said it is.. _.twenty_ nineteen? Does that mean the year _two thousand_ and nineteen?” His face grew pale and he turned wide eyes to Childermass. Childermass felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. “But...that cannot be,” 

“That must mean we have...traveled... two hundred years in a matter of seconds,” Childermass said, as he stared at the two boyish women standing before them, as he struggled to make sense of what was unfolding 

“But, that _cannot_ be!” Segundus repeated, clearly beginning to panic. He had begun to look ill, and so Childermass leaned into him, gripped him gently by the elbow.

“Perhaps we should sit down for a moment sir,” he said softly, endeavoring to remain calm, even though in truth he felt quite faint. Together, the two of them sat back down upon the bench. Segundus’ face remained ghostly pale, and Childermass fought the strong urge to sweep his hair away from his brow, to cup his cheek. Instead, he placed a hand upon Segundus’ shoulder.

“I’m uh, not sure what’s going on here,” said Cat. “Do you mean to tell me you two are _time travelers?_ ” She looked around. “Where are the hidden cahmras?” She used an unfamiliar word that Childermass couldn’t quite catch. 

Segundus, swallowing thickly, rallied enough to speak. “Where are we?” he asked “What place is this?” A good question, and one Childermass had somehow neglected to ask before now.

“This is Central Park, in Manhattan. New York City,” replied Sam.

“New York,” Childermass repeated the words numbly as he looked around him. “We are in America? In New York?” 

“Yes,” replied Cat nodding.

Childermass turned to Segundus, “This is my doing,” he said urgently, feeling the blood in his face flee southward, leaving behind a cold feeling of dread. “I asked the fairy road to convey us to a ‘ _new_ ’ destination, and then to ‘ _York_ ’, I must have said the words too closely together....”

“But what of the traveling through time?!” Segundus exclaimed. “You did not very well ask the road to convey us _two hundred years_ into the future! Oh Mr. Childermass, do not blame yourself. This could have more to do with capricious fairy magic than it could with anything you have done.” 

“You are being too kind, sir,” Childermass countered, feeling his stomach congeal to a leaden ball of guilt, a sensation that was only infinitesimally made better by the fact that Segundus was being his usual, lovely self and not casting blame upon Childermass for the thing he had so obviously done wrong. “It was _I_ who suggested the fairy road. It was _I_ who told you it would be far quicker and safer than going by horseback. If not for me, we would surely be well on our way to Mr. Honeyfoot’s by now.” 

“Did you say Honeyfoot?” This from Cat, who was looking at them with her brows raised and a surprised expression upon her face. 

“Yes,” Childermass replied, pulling his attention away from Segundus’ anguished face. “Why? Is that name familiar to you?” 

“Well, actually, it’s the name of my great aunt on my mother's side, Louisa. She was a Honeyfoot. She comes from a long line of Honeyfoots, from Yorkshire in fact. My father’s family though, they’re old school Londoners. But I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” Her tone though, wondrous and soft, told them that she didn’t quite believe her own words. Honeyfoot was not a common name. Not in 1817 anyway.

“Perhaps,” Segundus paused, staring at the young woman. He turned to Childermass again, his eyes gleaming with wonder. “Could she not be a descendent of our dear Mr. Honeyfoot…” 

“Whoa!” Sam had her hands held up, palms out, eyes round and mouth agape. “This is freeky! Are you guys telling me that Cat is a distant relative of a friend of yours?”

“Probably not,” Cat said, shaking her head. “That would be a bizarre coincidence.”

“Oh, so more bizarre than encountering two time traveling Englishmen from the early nineteenth century in the middle of Manhattan?” Sam asked, shooting her companion an ironic look. 

Cat shrugged in response. 

Childermass spoke up. “Would you kind ladies perchance be able to point us in the direction of a safe place where we may rest and perhaps find some food, or lodging for the night? We seem to be stranded.”

The two women looked at one another, then Sam spoke up. “We’re headed over to the Plaza. It’s our anniversary, and I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner, so you might as well join us,” she said. “If I can buy her a meal that will render me financially unstable for the next month, I might as well treat you guys to a cup of tea and some scones or something.” 

“The Plaza?” Segundus sounded as confused as Childermass felt by the spill of words. 

“It’s that massive hotel across the street,” Sam supplied, then she gripped Cat’s arm, “Oh my gosh! There’s so much these guys haven’t seen!”

Cat shot her friend a wry look. “Are you two sure you’re not messing with us?” she asked, ignoring her companion’s apparent excitement and narrowing her eyes at Childermass and Segundus with obvious suspicion. “Before we take you with us, I just want to be extra sure you’re not drug addict ex theater actors who’ve run off with a pair of costumes from the set of A Christmas Carol.”

Childermass frowned. “I am not sure what it is you mean, but as we’ve explained, we are not in any way connected to the theater. These are not costumes, they are our everyday clothing, and all I can tell you is that we are magicians, and that not two hours before this moment, we were near the town of Swillington, headed for York, and the year was 1817.”

Cat still looked unconvinced, but her green haired friend was grinning ear to ear. “Magicians! Didn’t you take a magical history course at uni? It makes sense with the time period. Look, babe, even if they _are_ full of it, they don’t seem dangerous. And they’re friends with a Honeyfoot! You’ve always said your mom’s family were good people. And besides,” she paused, holding out a hand in Childermass and Segundus’ direction. “They’re like, our dads’ ages. Don’t you think they’d be a little younger if they were gonna pull off some sort of prank?”

Cat shrugged again, her elfin face impassive beneath the brim of her knit cap. “OK sure. Come along with us. We’ll see if we can’t at least feed you. Also, I’m pretty sure if you _are_ from 1817, you’re gonna enjoy the Plaza.” Her tone was difficult to read, but her friend had apparently convinced her to trust them, at least momentarily. Childermass breathed a sigh of relief, felt the knots in his shoulders and stomach untangle themselves a little. 

Several minutes later, Childermass and Segundus, along with their new companions were approaching the edge of the park a second time. Segundus was gripping Childermass’ arm, and walking very close, clearly made apprehensive by the wall of noise and color that lay ahead. Childermass was just as nervous, but felt he should hide it in order to help calm Segundus’ fear. A sideways glance showed him that his companion was as pale as a sheet, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his dark eyes flitting back and forth along the wide avenue of rushing color that lay before them. 

Cat and Sam must have noticed their combined apprehension because they stopped and turned to look at the two men, brows furrowed in twin expressions of concern. “Hey, you guys are really scared aren’t you?” This from Sam.

“I am sorry madam,” Childermass replied, “but we have never seen the likes of that great... river that lies over yonder, and are quite apprehensive about drawing nearer to it.”

“River?” Sam’s face crinkled in confusion, but Cat seemed to understand.

“Oh! You think _that,_ you think _West Fifty Ninth Street_ is a river?” She pointed at the avenue filled with strange lights and noises.

“Well, not one made of water clearly,” Segundus spoke up. “But a river nonetheless. Or some wide thoroughfare down which magical beasts run rampant. What are those flowing things?”

“They’re cars!” Sam exclaimed, then, when both men looked at her with incomprehension, she turned to Cat. 

“Those are conveyances that run on petrol,” Cat said, her voice tinged with a sort of grudging embarrassment. “Like a coach and horses, but without the horses. They are not magic, and have to do with science. They can be dangerous if you don’t know the right places and times to cross the street. But they are operated by human beings, men and women like you and I. Jesus,” she swore. “I can’t believe I’m explaining this to two grown men.” She turned to her companion, “I blame you. You and your love of fantasy time travel movies.” Sam shrugged and gave her a smirk in response. 

Childermass nodded, feeling Segundus’ death grip upon his arm loosen a little at Cat’s pragmatic explanation. “Alright, well, that is good to know. And I assume miss, that you will show us the correct ways to cross that stream of...cars, so that we may reach the other side safely?”

“Oh man, this is some wild shit,” Sam said, laughing and scrubbing a hand through her hair. “These guys are just too much.”

Childermass ignored her confounding statement. “Please,” he addressed Cat instead, “lead the way forward.” 

Cat nodded. “Stay close to Sam and I, and just walk swiftly when we tell you to and you’ll be fine. Oh, and, just as a warning, there will be a _lot_ of people. More than in this park, and they'll all be walking very quickly, with us and in the opposite direction, so perhaps…” She seemed to think for a moment. “Here, you can hold onto the strap of my bag, and then hold onto each other so we don’t get separated.” She indicated the long black strap of a small bag that was slung over her shoulder and Childermass obediently stepped closer and grasped it. 

“Great, now all they have to do is steal your bag and run off,” said Sam, though there was more humor in her voice than suspicion. Childermass was beginning to realize that she was a friendly, humorous sort of person, whereas her friend was more serious. Perhaps she and Honeyfoot were not related after all?

“If you want four dollars in cash, two expired metro cards and a box of tampons, be my guest,” Cat said, and again, Childermass could not quite keep up with what she’d said, but he did as she asked and held onto the strap. 

He turned to Segundus, “Take my hand,” he said, and after a brief pause, Segundus complied. Childermass felt the cool smoothness of Segundus’ palm press against his own, Segundus’ soft fingers wrapping around his hand, at once thrilling and grounding. He turned back to Cat and Sam. “Lead on,” he said. 

Together, the four of them stepped out from under the shelter of the trees that lined the park, through the wide gap in the stone wall that stood between them and the rest of New York City. They were immediately enveloped in sights and sounds that neither he nor Segundus had experienced before. True to the ladies’ description, there were people everywhere, rushing past one another and bumping into Childermass and Segundus in their haste to get somewhere else. It was reminiscent of London, only moreso, faster, more relentless. The people seemed to mindlessly rush in a stream, much like the massive avenue of rushing vehicles to their right. 

He followed Cat as closely as he could, and pulled Segundus along behind them as the four forged their way through the crowds. People stared at him and Segundus, and Childermass could see surprise and joy written across many of the faces they passed, but also, many people ignored them as if they did not exist. 

He cast a glance up at the tall walls across the avenue, and saw that they were in fact buildings. Great, gray towers that reached into the unearthly orange sky. He could do little more than glance upward, for if he let his eyes stay too long upon those heights, he would lose his step. As it was, bringing his gaze down to the small back of the young woman whose bag he clung to, caused his stomach to lurch sickly, as if he were out upon the ocean. The strange honking and bleating noises continued ceaselessly. Some were so loud and close that he jumped, and heard an answering flinch in Segundus’ gentle fingers wrapped around his hand.

Before long, they turned inward, toward the edge of the great avenue they were to cross. Lights were everywhere, twinkling in the trees. Strung across the buildings in great, sparkling strands and swaths, all in red and white and green. Tall, unwavering streetlights lined the avenue and there were also lights that glowed green and red and yellow at intervals. The ‘ _cars’_ as Sam and Cat had called them, had lights upon them as well, and so the whole thing became a mad profusion of movement and bright color and loud noises. 

They waited now beneath one of the glowing lanterns. Cat turned to look back at them. “Are you alright?” she asked, seeming genuinely concerned for their safety, though she had up until recently been convinced that they were not telling the truth of their situation. Perhaps the sight of their stunned faces had changed her mind about the veracity of their claims. 

“We are well enough!” Childermass replied, having to yell to be heard above the bustle and noise of the constant press of people. It was like standing in a beehive. 

“Oh kay, well, when _this_ light.” Cat pointed upward at the light above their heads that now glowed red. “When it turns green, you’re to follow me and Sam across the road. Stay close. The cars will stop and let us pass, but only for a short while, so you have to walk quickly.”

Childermass nodded to show her that he understood. He turned to look at Segundus to see if he had also heard the instruction, and the man, still pale and looking a bit as if he’d just dismounted from a bucking horse, nodded to show that he had. 

Childermass stared up at the light and watched as it turned from red to green. “Let’s go!” yelled Sam, and they moved forward into the avenue. True to Cat’s description, all the cars had stopped, all in a row, vibrating with noise and light and steaming with chemical smells in the cold air, much like impatient racehorses, chomping at the bit to run. Childermass tried not to look too closely at them, for he needed his focus to forge the gap caused by the stopped cars, and to hold onto Cat’s bag strap before him and Segundus’ hand. Unbidden, an image of Moses parting the Red Sea came to his mind. 

The trip across took only a few seconds’ time, and soon they were standing on the opposite shore as it were. The light changed again and the cars surged forward in a mad rush of noise and light and color. Childermass shivered at the thought of being trampled beneath them. 

“Welcome to the Plaza!” Sam called out from her vantage point a few steps ahead of them. She raised her arm and indicated the tall building they were approaching, which sat on the corner of the massive avenue they had just crossed. It loomed over them now, rising up into the sky, much like the other buildings of the city, only it looked more familiar, closer to their time and place in England than anything else seen so far outside of the park. Like a great castle, it’s pale walls, dotted with windows that glowed with golden light, rose above them, imposing and yet vaguely familiar. It was a palace of unbelievable proportions. From his vantage point upon the ground, it looked taller even than York Minster, and still it was dwarfed in size by the gargantuan gray and glass structures that surrounded it.

They approached the glass doors, which gleamed under black and gold filigree at the top of a wide scarlet carpeted staircase. After an uncertain moment, during which Childermass released the strap upon Cat’s shoulder bag and felt a bit swept along by a rush of people, he and Segundus made it inside. 

Once safely out of the way of the doors, they stopped and stared about them in awe. A gigantic glass chandelier hung above their heads, blazing with a light brighter than any they’d ever seen before. Light was everywhere, reflected in white-gold halos and pooling against the pale marble walls and floors. Strings of lights in red and gold, green and white festooned the walls above them, and Childermass wondered again that there was no magic in this place, and yet, the strange strings of lights, in the chandeliers and festooning the walls, did not flicker with flame. They burned bright and steady and unmoving. Lush, ornate carpets covered portions of the marble floors, and gold gilded chairs and sofas, upholstered with what looked to be the finest silks, in muted tones of gray and wine and peach were everywhere. 

A tall pine tree, looking lovely but incongruous, sat in the middle of the enormous parlor where they stood, and it was festooned with sparkling lights and shining orbs of red and gold. And _heat_. It was blissfully, comfortably warm in a way that Childermass had never quite felt before, not during wintertime. He knew he’d soon grow accustomed to it and need to remove his coat. As it was, he and Segundus swiftly removed their hats.

He looked over at his travel companion and saw the man gazing about him, his mouth gaping as he tilted his head back to take in the sights. Segundus, perhaps feeling Childermass’ gaze upon him, turned his head and their eyes met. Childermass could see lights, like stars, reflected in the dark depths of Segundus’ eyes. They did not speak. What was there to say? They were in some fairy palace, in New York city, in a time far removed from their own.

It occurred to Childermass suddenly that they would both have been long dead by now. That somewhere, he and Segundus were resting their long-mouldered bones in their graves. Perhaps among the gnarled oaks and ancient elms of Starecross cemetery. He did not at all like the thought of Segundus dying. It was far less pleasant a thing to consider than his own death, and that realization struck him like the toll of a church bell on a frosty morning, ringing clear and bold through his chest. He was surprised by a sudden sharp pull at his heart, paired with a hope that they would be buried in the same place when their time did come. 

A small movement of Segundus’ fingers made him realize that their hands were still clasped, and furthermore that he was still gazing into the man’s eyes like a fool. He hurriedly extricated his hand from Segundus’ and broke their shared glance, feeling his face warming with more than just the unearthly heat of the vast room in which they stood. Segundus offered Childermass a shy smile and Childermass could not tell if he wore a matching blush, for the man’s cheeks were so very rosy anyway.

Childermass looked over and saw their hosts, the two boyish women, staring at them. 

“Oh my god,” Sam said. “Are you two-”

Cat cut her off abruptly by bumping their shoulders together and glaring at her. “Hey!” she said urgently. “If they really _are_ from 1817, that is _not_ a subject you want to bring up right now.” 

Sam rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Is it my fault I want everyone to be gay?” she asked. Perhaps she thought that Segundus and Childermass were unhappy and needed cheering up. 

“This place,” Childermass said, stepping closer to their guides, “it is surely a palace. Is it the home of some grand Duke? Or perhaps a minister?”

Cat chuckled. “No, it’s just a hotel. A really posh one. It was built probably a hundred years ago? Babe,” she turned to Sam, “do you remember when they built the Plaza?”

“1905,” replied Sam. “I looked it up once.”

Cat smiled fondly at her. “She’s got a row-bot memory, I swear,” she said. 

“Row bot?” Childermass was again lost. 

“Never mind. Let's get to our reservations. I think they’ll be oh kay with us adding two more to our party. If not, we’ll just go somewhere else.”

The four of them made their way across the gleaming marble floors to a small desk, behind which stood a tall, slender man in a sharp suit of dark blue. Cat and Sam spoke briefly with the gentleman behind the desk and he nodded. Then they followed him to a secluded table, covered with a fine white tablecloth. It was in a corner, out of the way of other diners a bit, sheltering in the intersection of two dark, wood paneled walls, and Childermass sighed in relief. He needed to be somewhere quiet and private so that his mind could focus on their predicament, and so far, everything they’d encountered in this strange place had been light and noise and movement. He felt as if his eyes would grow tired and cease working. That his ears would fall off of his head with the work he expected of them. 

They all removed their coats and draped them over a nearby coat rack, and Childermass and Segundus hung their hats there as well. Cat was wearing a blouse in dark, wine red. Her hat was pulled off to reveal close cropped hair of a chestnut brown colour. Sam wore what looked like a man’s jacket and some sort of thin cravat tied round her neck over a white shirt. The women looked appreciatively at Childermass and Segundus’ jackets and waistcoats. “The detailing on his waistcoat!” Sam exclaimed, turning delighted eyes toward Cat. “That long row of buttons, it looks to be late 18th century. Sir!” she asked as Childermass pulled out his chair and prepared to sit down. “What year was your waistcoat made?”

Childermass thought for a moment. “I inherited it from another servant of my master’s house several years ago, and I do believe it was made sometime around 1780 or 1790,” he replied. Both women’s faces split into bright, delighted smiles. 

“Told you!” Sam said. “This is awesome.” 

All four were soon seated, Cat and Sam next to each other and Childermass beside Segundus. The chairs were comfortable, with thick cushions and the women sat on a long, cushioned bench opposite them. An attendant, dressed in black, looking for all the world like Christopher Drawlight, with small pale features and dark hair, came over and poured them some water into the glasses set in front of each of their places from a pitcher. He asked what they would like, and Cat rattled off several words that Childermass was too slow to follow, though he did hear the words, “chicken” and “scones” and “tea” quite clearly. The latter caught his acute attention, because yes, for the love of all that was holy, he would very much like a cup of tea. 

Once they were alone again, Cat spoke up. “Why is it that you think you can’t go home?” she asked. She had apparently decided to play along with their story, and seemed much more comfortable with it than she had at the park. “Can’t you just use the same spell you did to get here?”

“We could, but there is no magic here,” Segundus spoke up. “Have you any idea why it is absent from this city?”

“Oh yes, magic, I almost forgot,” said Sam. “Well, in school, we learned that technology replaced magic. Sometime maybe in the early 1960s was the last time it was recorded that anyone in the You Ess or the You Kay or anywhere really used magic for anything. Apparently, humans had to sort of... choose between modern technology or magic, and they chose technology instead. Or rather technology could accomplish things more reliably and people grew lazy and forgot magic. It happened very slowly, but right around when television became popular, magic had all but left the world. The advent of computers seems to have killed it off almost entirely.”

“So, magic is... gone from the world?” Childermass heard Segundus’ voice filled with a soft sort of dismay. He turned to look at his companion and found Segundus staring back at him with haunted eyes. He himself felt an unpleasant coldness unfurl inside his chest upon hearing that magic, the thing they had both devoted their lives to, had fled the world of man. 

“Not gone _per say_ ,” Cat explained. “Just exceedingly rare, and only practiced in cultures with very low levels of technology. The sort that you can’t talk to because they’re very suspicious of strangers, or live deep in very hostile environments, or both. Like the jungles of the Congo or Inuit cultures near the poles. I’ve heard rumors that magic is still practiced among some of the Mennanite and Amish communities, and among a few very secretive Native American tribes, but they’re very hush hush about it.” 

“What sort of technology are you referring to?” Segundus asked. “The rushing river of cars? These lights that operate without the use of a candle’s flame?”

“It’s the science of machines,” Sam said, nodding. “Metal. Electricity. Considering that you’ve both come from a place that didn’t have electric lights or central heating, it’s probably best to take our word for it. It’s complicated.” 

Segundus placed his hand upon Childermass’ arm. “Mr. Childermass, how can this be? How can the world of men have forsaken magic for these mad machines and strange lights?” His voice belayed the confusion and anguish they were both feeling. Childermass could not answer, and only sadly shook his head. Perhaps upon their return home, if they ever made it home that is, he and Segundus could research ways to keep magic alive somehow. He would think upon it.

Soon plates of food were brought over, including a silver pot of tea, cream and sugar, and scones. The women had some sort of meat in gravy over what looked like rice. It smelled heavenly, and when Segundus remarked upon its pleasing aroma, both women obligingly let him and Childermass try forkfuls from their plates. The food was beyond description. The meat, (the aforementioned chicken as it turned out), tender, and in some rich sauce, was perhaps one of the most delicious things Childermass had ever eaten. He and Segundus shared a plate of buttered scones (the butter came in small, perfectly formed squares wrapped in gold foil), and drank several cups of very good tea. They asked Sam and Cat many many questions as they ate, which the women happily answered, even if their responses did not always make much sense and required much in the way of careful explanations. 

Segundus tactfully brought up the subject of the two men kissing in the park, even when Childermass attempted to glare a warning at him, feeling his chest and neck flaming with embarrassed heat. But Segundus, ever the scholar, and a brave one at that, waited unflinchingly for the response. When they discovered that men could lie with and marry other men, and that women could lie with and marry other women, both he and Segundus sat in stunned silence for a few moments. 

“I hope we haven’t shocked you,” Cat said, sympathy and apprehension battling for supremacy across her features. “I know that sort of thing is a crime where you come from. But Sam and I are partners, lovers, and if you have a problem with that, you should say so now.” 

She was reassured, haltingly and awkwardly by both Segundus and Childermass that they took no issue with Cat and Sam as lovers, and yet Childermass carefully kept any emotion from his voice, for he did not wish to confuse or frighten his traveling companion. 

There were times, had been times, when he could have sworn he’d seen a certain look in Segundus’ eyes when they were alone together, but now was not the time or place to bring these things to light. He rejoiced silently though, feeling this new knowledge coursing through his mind and heart like liquid sunshine, fighting the grin that seemed relentlessly to try and force its way onto his face. 

As the meal wound down, Childermass was able to relax into the warmth and comfort of his surroundings. Much of the fear and confusion over their experiences in this new world had faded under the onslaught of delightful foods, excellent hot tea and good company. Somewhere, an unseen band of musicians was playing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” The music, played upon string instruments and accompanied by a chorus of children’s voices, soft and lovely, added to the general feeling of luxurious comfort. 

Dessert was next, and they were both offered bites of a sumptuous chocolate confection. Segundus made an indecent noise as he chewed, and Childermass had to hastily drink some water to cool the heat that rose inside him upon hearing that soft little moan. 

Once the desert had been eaten and the dishes cleared, the women nursed their coffee and Childermass found himself quite pleasantly drowsy. Next to him, Segundus’ cheeks were a rosy pink colour and his eyes sparkled in the myriad of lights that surrounded them. He was astoundingly lovely, and Childermass felt his heart, the secret part of it he hid when Segundus was near, swell inside his chest. 

Sam was suddenly grinning ear to ear and had a mischievous look upon her face. “I was not necessarily planning on doing this with two extra witnesses,” she began, pulling a small black box out from her bag where it was slung across the back of her chair. “But if there’s any possible way to make an important event more memorable, I’m not sure I can imagine it.” She turned to Cat and opened the box. Inside was a small silver ring, set with what looked like a gleaming opal. Cat’s eyes went wide, and then filled with tears. “Catherine Julianna Tyler-Thomas, will you marry me?” asked Sam.

Cat let out a squeak, then a sob, then nodded and threw her arms around Sam’s neck, and they kissed one another. Upon the mouth. And not at all in the manner of close friends. Childermass felt his heart judder inside his chest, felt his stomach twist with an uncomfortable surge of some unnamed emotion as the women embarrassed and kissed each other. Next to him, Segundus had gone very still. 

The women soon separated, and Cat turned to their dinner guests with a beaming smile, hurriedly wiping tears from her cheeks with her hands. “I’m sorry for my fiance’s lack of appropriate timing.” She paused then, her eyes narrowing with concern. “Are you oh kay?” she asked, looking sharply at Childermass.

Childermass could not hear her. His heart was hammering inside his chest, his breath was coming faster, rushing in and out of his lungs, as if he had just run across the moors. He felt the noise and lights of the dining hall fade around him, and all he was aware of was Segundus, sitting silently beside him. Segundus, pale and earnest and oh so lovely. 

He rose suddenly, nearly knocking over his teacup in his haste. “I...will...will you please excuse me,” he stammered out. “My apologies,” he added as he turned and fled the table. He did not know where to go, but something was unfolding inside his chest with inexorable heat, like a surge of warm honey, yet mixed somehow with lightning bolts of pure terror. 

He saw a large fireplace and made his way toward it. The dining hall was blessedly sparsely populated, and he was able to reach the fireplace without the intervention of any more people making exclamations over his apparently outdated clothing or pointing one of those (what had Cat called them...mobile fones?) at him. He stopped before the large hearth, chest heaving, vision blurring with tears he held back only from sheer force of will. He watched the flames dance cheerily behind the grate, feeling his thoughts dancing along with them, hot and fractured, as he tried to calm the pounding of his heart and the breath rushing in and out of his lungs. 

“Mr. Childermass?” Segundus’ voice, though soft and cautious, caused him to jump a bit. He looked up and saw the man standing a few steps away, clearly unsure whether to come closer. “Mr. Childermass, are you unwell?” He asked. 

Childermass swallowed thickly and tried to meet Segundus’ eyes… tried and failed. His gaze settled somewhere in the area of the man’s neck cloth instead.

“I am well. You need not have followed me,” he choked out with some effort, aware that his voice betrayed his words with the way it had to be pushed from his throat, rough and deep with emotion. 

“You do not look or sound well,” Segundus, who had two working eyes in his head, was not fooled. “What is wrong sir? Is there nothing I can do?”

“No,” Childermass said with a shake of his head, looking back at the flames. “There is naught you can do. As I have said, I am well. I...I was simply overheated.”

Segundus stepped closer. Close enough so that Childermass could detect his now familiar smell of tea and paper and plain soap. “Might I suggest, sir,” he said softly, “that if you are overly hot, then perhaps a fireplace is not the best location near which to stand.”

Childermass could not help but chuckle, though it had a sharp edge to it. He somehow found the courage to look at Segundus’ face, and the expression of fondness, mingled with worry he saw there nearly sent him back into a state of panic again. “I cannot explain why I left,” he said, knowing he had to say something. “I simply needed to be somewhere else.”

“Was it the proposal that has you so upset?” Segundus asked, his eyes clouding, ink inside coffee inside a midnight sky. God but his eyes were dark, and how they gleamed in the fireplace. 

“No, it was not. I cannot begrudge them their happiness,” he said. He only partly told the truth. For indeed it _was_ the proposal, what it meant. What it _could_ mean and what could never be that had him in such a state. 

Segundus stepped closer still and placed a hand to Childermass’ upper arm, his fingers gripping gently, the warmth of them seeping through the material of Childermass’ shirt to scorch his skin beneath. Childermass felt his heart leap anew inside his chest. “I think,” Segundus said, oh so softly as his eyes flicked over Childermass’ face, “that I understand.”

“Mr. Segundus,” Childermass breathed.

“John,” Segundus corrected him with a small smile. “You may call me John.”

“John,” Childermass repeated, his eyes making a path from Segundus’ soft eyes to his gently parted mouth and back, over and over. “John,” he repeated, saying far more than that one simple syllable was meant to convey. 

Segundus smiled, and it hit Childermass like a physical thing. Like the wind off the moors, like the swirling swell of magic, so suddenly absent in this new place. Without permission from his scattered mind, his hand came up and he placed his palm against Segundus’ cheek. The man’s skin was like silk.He heard Segundus sigh and felt him lean into the touch a little. 

A log upon the fire popped, loud and sharp and both men flinched in unison. Childermass remembered belatedly that they were in a public place and swiftly removed his hand from the velvety bliss of Segundus’ cheek. He looked about him and saw that Cat was standing nearby. She had a strange look upon her face. Part sadness, part joy, and more than a little discomfort. 

“I am so sorry to interrupt,” she said, suddenly awash with nervous movement, shoving her hands into the pockets of her long, snug breeches and looking away from them, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Um, Sam is handling the bill, and I wanted to make sure you guys were alright.” 

She took one hand from her pocket and ran it through her close cropped hair and the gleam of her new ring caught Childermass’ eye. Along with that short, metallic flash of light in the warm glow of the fireplace, came a spark of sensation. A glimmer of something familiar and dearly missed. “Your ring,” he said, his eyes locked onto her hand where it now hung at her side. “May I see it?”

“Oh, um...sure,” she replied, coming closer and holding out her hand for his inspection. The flicker of sensation flared into a tiny flame in Childermass’ highly tuned senses. _Magic_. The ring contained a small spark of magic. He must not have noticed it upon first seeing the ring at the table, because of the pounding of his heart. He gently took the young woman’s hand into his own and turned to look at Segundus. “Do you feel it, sir?” he asked. “The magic?” 

“I do!” Segundus nodded eagerly and stepped closer as well. Now both men were staring down at the ring on Cat’s finger.

“This ring,” Childermass peered urgently at Cat. “Where did Madam Sam find it? Where is it from?”

“Oh,” Cat looked momentarily confused. “It’s an antique, from my mother’s side of the family. Passed down for generations. Sam went and asked my mother for it and had it sized and everything.”

“Your mother’s side of the family?” Segundus asked, swiftly putting the pieces together. He turned to Childermass, his eyes aglow with hope. “From the Yorkshire Honeyfoots?” 

“Yes, yes, exactly!” Cat exclaimed, catching on. “I never heard of anyone in the family talking about magic, but this ring could very well have belonged at one time to one of the Honeyfoot women.”

Childermass caught Segundus’ eyes and they shared a broad grin. “I think,” he said, “that we have been shown a way home after all.” 

_______________________

It took very little time to collect Sam and after a harrowing yet hopeful trip back across the wide avenue of chaotic noise and light, they were all four of them back in the park, close to where the fairy road had so recently disappeared. 

Childermass and Segundus, after some brief discussion, asked that Cat hold out her hand. They placed their hands over hers and Childermass said the words to the spell, very carefully pronouncing ‘York’ and the words ‘High Petergate,’ throwing in a mention of ‘Christmas Eve eighteen seventeen’ just to be certain. He felt the spark of magic beneath their hands flare from the center of Cat’s ring, as if it had been lying dormant, waiting for its chance to leap up in response to Childermass’ request. Childermass felt it grow and flourish and tingle down all four of his limbs, and In a swirl of shadows, the fairy road appeared. 

Cat and Sam stared wide eyed at the twilit path through an unfamiliar wood that had suddenly unfolded before them. “You were telling the truth,” Sam breathed, her face breaking into a bright smile. Cat merely gaped. 

Childermass returned Sam’s smile. “We must hurry, for I fear the road will not remain open long. Thank you both for the help you provided us.”

“Yes,” chimed in Segundus “Thank you both so much. It is a shame that we shall not see you again.”

“Yeah, we’ll miss you guys,” Sam stepped up and embraced first Childermass and Segundus. Neither of them were used to such outward displays of affection from a person they’d known such a short time, but Childermass at least felt his throat swell a little with sentiment as he wrapped first one then the other small woman in his arms and gave them a brief squeeze. 

He and Segundus gave the women one final smile and a nod and stepped onto the fairy road. This time, things were far simpler. They rounded a bend in the road and Childermass was overjoyed to see Brewer and Absalom, waiting for them near the entrance to a shadowy street. A street that looked cobbled and dark and familiar, and not at all lit up with thousands of tiny, twinkling lights. They each grasped their horses' reigns and hurried toward the exit. 

Once they were through, Childermass looked around him and was quickly reassured that they were indeed standing on High Petergate, standing upon the cobbled street between two rows of tightly packed houses. All was blanketed in snow, and small flurries still drifted down from the night sky, shimmering gently as they fell. It was quite late, after midnight, and most of the windows above and around them were dark, their inhabitants slumbering. A solitary street lamp flickered, dim and familiar nearby, illuminating the still falling snow. The moon, round and full, made intermittent appearances from behind a gray blanket of scudding clouds. 

Childermass turned in time to see the fairy road become insubstantial and disappear, and breathed a deep, shuddering sigh. He spent a moment patting Brewer upon the flank and stroking his nose, saying sweet horsy things to him to apologize for their separation, and he could hear Segundus doing the same to his mare, Absalom. They eventually turned to each other.

“It feels good to be home again,” Segundus said, sounding a little breathless, his voice barely above a whisper in the night. 

“Yes, indeed. Though it does seem rather dark and quiet by comparison,” Childermass said, grinning. Segundus grinned in response. A few hundred meters up the street, they could see Honeyfoot’s house, one solitary window still lit with a flickering glow. He knew that Honeyfoot was waiting for them, that he was the sort to sit up with a lit lantern and a kettle of water at the ready to make them tea. A kind, mother hen of a man.

“I suppose we should not dally. Dear Mr. Honeyfoot will be waiting up for us,” Segundus said, reading Childermass’ thoughts to the letter. His eyes though, mere shadows in the pale oval of his face, stayed trained upon Childermass, and he did not move. 

“We should indeed,” Childermass replied, but he also stayed motionless, his eyes locked to Segundus’ face. He took a breath, held it in as if diving underwater and took a step closer to his companion. Segundus mirrored his action, drawing nearer, his boot crunching through the crust of the snow upon the ground. They stood between their horses, which provided them with some shelter from the chill breeze and some privacy as well, not that anyone was awake to see them at this hour. 

“Mr. Childermass-” Segundus began, his voice still reedy and uncertain.

“John,” Childermass said, smiling a little because he was too frightened not to. 

“John,” repeated Segundus. His shadowed eyes looked for a moment as if he had more to say, but he only lifted his chin and stepped a little bit closer. His face was now bathed in moonlight.

Childermass, feeling as if his heart would burst from how fast it was beating, finally closed the distance between them and brought his hands up to frame Segundus’ snow chilled cheeks. “If you do not wish to be kissed sir, then tell me now,” he said in a rough whisper. 

“I _do_ wish it,” Segundus’ response was swift, if a bit tremulous, and so Childermass leaned in, slowly, carefully, and pressed their lips together. At the feel of Segundus’ mouth, yielding and warm against his own, he felt the longing and confusion and ache of many months melt and fall away from him. He heard himself make a soft noise, one he could not recall making before. Segundus leaned into the kiss and sighed again, his warm breath gusting over Childermass’ cheek.

After a short while, they parted slowly, Childermass stroking his thumbs oh so gently across Segundus’ cheekbones, Segundus’ hands pressed to Childermass’ chest above his coat. Segundus was trembling. 

“You are cold,” Childermass said soft and low, preparing to open his coat to enfold Segundus inside. 

“A little,” Segundus replied. “But also, I find myself somewhat overcome.” 

“Shall we go now?” Childermass asked, turning his head slightly to look at Honeyfoot’s house in the distance. He did not want to chance breaking something so fragile and uncertain, by rushing in too quickly. 

His head was pulled back gently by Segundus’ fingers upon his cheek. “One more?” Segundus asked, hopefulness ringing clear and lovely in his voice, and then he was kissing Childermass again, pressing close, putting his arms round Childermass’ waist. Childermass would have given him a thousand more kisses. He would have pulled the stars down from the skies for John Segundus, one by one. Instead, he wrapped his coat around the smaller man and held him close and kissed and kissed him, until they were both breathless and very warm. 

He was loath to let Segundus out of the circle of his arms, but he knew they must proceed, must finally finish their strange and winding journey. They parted reluctantly and turned and led their horses up the street. Segundus gently interlaced the fingers of their hands, and they stayed that way, holding onto each other until the last moment, only letting their fingers part at the very edge of the light spilling from Mr. Honeyfoot’s front windows. 

After they had knocked and their host had welcomed them in with smiles and exclamations over their lateness, and the door had shut again behind them, the snow continued to fall softly and gently through the dark Christmas morning. All around the house, in the stones of York, and in the rocks and the cold waters of the Ouse, through the clouds that only partly successfully obscured the moon, in all of it, magic could once again be found. 


End file.
